Pancakes
by FieryBrunette
Summary: It all started with the pancakes.' Marion's attempts to be a modern housewife go horribly wrong when she makes pancakes. Chaos ensues. Will her husband be able to save the day? Indy/Marion one-shot. Post KotCS.


Today is not my day.

I don't even have to try hard to make everything a disaster.

It just happens.

Of course.

The MODERN HOUSEWIFE knows how to cook a breakfast in a matter of minutes. The MODERN HOUSEWIFE likes to wear those little cutesy outfits and apron wherever she goes. The MODERN HOUSEWIFE gets everything right.

Obviously, looking at my situation, I am not in any way a modern housewife.

It's the first day of school, for both my husband and son. So I, in all my stealthy glory, tried to get up early and make a special breakfast, just to show I care. I NEVER get up before nine or so. But today? I got up at five.

Just to cook breakfast.

Now, you would think that I would have this all under control. Because having two hours to cook breakfast is really easy and hassle free, right?

Well, you are wrong.

Very wrong.

...............

I suppose it all started with pancakes.

An easy recipe, straight out of the housewife column in the local newspaper. I had all the ingredients on the counter, and all the tools needed to cook them. But somehow, I managed to take a small task and turn it into a huge disaster.

I blame the flour.

Stupid flour.

2 and 1/4 cups, that's all the recipe said, but I accidentally scooped too much into it. And then I added too much water, too much vanilla and too much buttermilk.

But I could do this, right? I told myself I could, brushing my black hair back as I mixed the sludge-like pancake butter, which was an odd shade of puky yellow.

"C'mon, damn batter, mix!" I grunted, dragging my wooden spoon through the quicksand-like mixture.

After a few minutes of struggling, I even added some bits and slices of apple (Indy's favorite) to the batter. He'd like that. A modern housewife classic with a little twist. I was sure it would taste wonderful. And yet the diced apple just floated in the toxic waste batter like dead fish in a pond. It made me feel queasy just to look at.

But the modern housewife never has doubts about her culinary exhibitions. No sirree.

I put butter on the griddle and then began to pour the pancake batter in small dollops. Dollops that resembled disfigured heads and oddly shaped hearts. The apples looked like eyes and ears, and as I stared at them, I felt even queasier.

While the pancakes baked, I decided to sit down for a minute and try setting the table. Plates, forks, syrup, glasses filled to the brim with fresh squeezed orange juice, I did the whole thing. I even made those little place cards for my two men, one reading INDY, the other reading MUTT.

"BOYS! Time for school!" I yelled, deciding it was time to unleash my surprise.

I walked around the table and caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror and gasped. I looked rather appalling, covered in splotches of flour with my hair in a messy bun above my head. This wouldn't do, I thought to myself. This wouldn't do at all. I was a MODERN HOUSEWIFE, not some random disorganised and disheveled mother who was about to have a panic attack because she did not know how to be a housewife.

I practically ran to the bathroom, scrubbing out all stains from my apron and removing all remains of pancake ingredients from my face. I pulled my hair back into a more fashionable pony tail, pinning the stray ends to the sides of my head. I could do this, I thought, taking deep breaths as I heard Indy's familiar shuffle coming down the stairs.

I opened the door and tried to prance as gracefully as possible (I may have stumbled several times but whatever) towards my husband, who was straightening his tie in front of the very mirror I saw myself in minutes ago.

"Marion, can you get this for me?" He asked helplessly, gesturing at his tie. "I don't even think I've tied a tie since I came to rescue you down in Peru."

"I think that acting like a normal, stuffy professor of archeology will come back naturally as time passes, dear." I said soothingly, fixing his tie and smoothing out his coat. I let my hands rest on his shoulders and smiled up at him, professor glasses and all.

"What, no good morning kiss?" He teased with a grin. My favorite grin. The one that clearly says 'If you want me, come and get me'.

"You took the words right out of my mouth." I teased back, kissing him oh-so-lightly on the lips.

It probably would have gone farther, what with Indy's arm sneaking around my aproned waist and my hands making their way from his shoulder to his face, but our moment of intimacy was broken by a mock gagging coming from the foot of the stairs. There was my...our....son, pretending to be choking at the sight of our affectionate display.

"Mutt!" I cried angrily, separating unwillingly from Indy. "Why aren't you dressed? You've got twenty minutes till school starts, get upstairs you procrastinator!"

With a snort and a bunch of muttered curses towards the idea of 'school' that I pretended not to hear, Mutt stomped up to his room and slammed the door.

I shook my head with a sigh. "That boy." I said. "Is such a pig-headed meanie sometimes."

"Pig-headed meanie?" Indy laughed, the smile on his face EXTREMELY antagonistic. "I wonder where he got that gene from, mummy dearest?"

"I know, your father was nothing like his son or grandson. Does it sometimes skip a generation?" I mused allowed, ignoring his glare.

"So," I began, leading Indy to the dining room, "Would you like syrup on your pancakes, Dr. Jones?"

"Pancakes?" He raised an eyebrow. "You don't know how to make pancakes."

"Do too." I handed him some orange juice. "Now, do you want syrup or not?"

He laughed loudly. "Marion, you don't cook big meals, c'mon, where's the punch line?"

I crossed over my chest, VERY affronted that he thought I was joking about making breakfast. "It just so happens that I did cook breakfast for everyone, Indiana Jones. I awoke to the wonderful concept that is the Modern Housewife. There. Is. No. Punch. Line."

"Modern Housewife?" He asked, confused. But then, as his eyes traveled up and down my body/outfit, he seemed to get the gist of it. "Oh, the outfit."

I nodded, eyes narrowed.

"But, if you made breakfast, where's the pancakes?" He asked.

"I-..." My specific answer was cut off as the strangest scent wafted my nostrils. Burning rubber, flour, milk, water...and....apples?

"Holy shit!" I yelled, dashing out of the dining room into the kitchen.

I threw open the door with a bang, nearly screaming at what I saw.

This is the point in my narrative where the past catches up with the present. I am now standing in my kitchen, eyes and mouth wide open in horror.

To say this whole Modern Housewife thing went down the drain is an understatement.

A rather large one, might I add.

There are the pancakes, the size of balloons, and getting larger by the second on that griddle.

"Marion....wha-?" Indy comes up behind me, staring open mouthed at the balloon/pancakes.

I leap forward to turn the stove off.

But of course, that plan has to blow up in my face as well.

Literally.

The pancakes explode.

Everywhere.

BLAM.

There's batter everywhere, on the ceiling, on the floor, on me, on my husband. Sticky, and wet.

And just when I think it's over, I realize that my troubles are just beginning.

Because honestly, they never do end, do they?

I glance at the stove again, and gasp as I see what happened.

Apparently, one of the pancakes decided to spontaneously combust.

As in randomly catch on fire.

Fan-bloody-tastic.

The other pancake is swelling dangerously large, and as I leap forward to turn the stove off, it explodes as well, soaking me and Indy with more batter than we have already acquired. And THEN it catches on fire.

In case I need to repeat, today is not my day.

"FIRE!" I scream at the top of my lungs. "Someone grab the bloody fire extinguisher!!!!" FIRE!"

Thank God my own husband has more wits about him at this moment then I do. He bounds into the other room and seconds later comes running in with a fire extinguisher, with which he...well....EXTINGUISHES the fire on the stove.

But he kind of hits me with it as well.

Not that I don't deserve this. Because I do. Very much so.

By the time he turns it off, we're both standing there, drenched in pancake batter and the crap that comes out of fire extinguishers.

I feel like crying my eyes out, because my plan to prove to be a useful housewife is an utter failure.

I try to walk to my husband, to try and be a comforting housewife. But I only end up slipping on batter and falling on my ass.

He stares down at me, and then reaches for his drippy glasses and tries to clean them on his shirt. It doesn't help much.

I glance warily at him, my lip quivering.

"Marion," He bends over calmly and gazes down at me, "What are you trying to do?"

"I..." I stop, my own thoughts making themselves known to me. "I don't know. I just....I saw a magazine about how every husband wants a wife that is clean cut, orderly, in a dress, and always has a home cooked meal prepared. And I thought that if I didn't, you might not be happy and the marriage wouldn't work out despite the fact that we both wanted it to and--" I keep ranting like this for countless minutes.

I'll spare you, because I've heard from many a person that my rants are rather long and insane.

When I finish and look guiltily up at him, Indy just stares. And then, he chuckles. Next thing I know, he's roaring with laughter. At first, I think he's crazy for laughing. I mean, if I were the average 50's husband, I'd be pissed. But I guess that's why I love this guy so much to marry him, because he has the oddest sense of humor.

And for that reason, I join in.

It's just the two of us, both covered in this sick smelling pancake batter and me rolling around in it. It's stupid, completely and utterly stupid.

Yet I'm loving every second of it.

"You...." He breaks off into laughter. "You seriously thought that I would love you less if you couldn't cook bloody pancakes with..." He picks something off of his sleeve, "Apples in them?"

He reaches down and lifts me up like a sack of flour and sets me down on the counter so we're of the same height. There's a twinkle in his hazel eyes as he takes a towel and begins to wipe the batter and fire extinguisher goop off of me. I sigh, feeling like a naughty child.

"Possibly." I relent. "I was just worried. I wanted to make a good impression."

He looks at me most disbelievingly, completely bewildered by my earnest expression.

"Really?" He raises an eyebrow.

I nod, wrinkling my nose as a drip of batter falls off my nose.

"Well, then," He reaches forward and wipes some more of the batter of of my face, "I think it's important for me to say that you've made a good impression on me since the first day we met, Marion Jones."

It's a good thing I'm seated on the counter instead of standing. I'd be a puddle on the floor if it wasn't for that counter.

He looks so silly in his pancake batter smudged glasses. Yet, so do I, in my fire extinguisher goop. But, regardless of our appearances, it doesn't even stop my lips from eagerly meeting his.

I smile into the kiss. Marion Jones, I tell myself, you are an idiot for thinking that this guy would dare leave you again.

Indy pulls me against him and I thread my fingers through his sticky hair.

"What the hell happened in here?"

I resurface from my lovely dose of Indiana Jones and look at my son, who's staring at the two of us as if we're crazed monkeys.

"Oh, that." Indy just waves his hand about, "We just had a little mishap with the pancakes."

Mutt looks rather amused at the 'little' mishap, but nevertheless shrugs. "We've gotta be there in twenty minutes, pops, so I'd change if I were you. And mom....." I can see him clearly struggling to keep a straight face as he looks at me. "Don't ever make pancakes again."

He walks out and I face my husband again. "A little mishap with the pancakes?"

"And the housewife." He adds with a grin. "But that's alright, sweetheart. If I had wanted a modern housewife, I never would have bothered taking you back from Peru."

My attempt to hit him for that last remark is stopped as he leans down and presses his lips to mine.

And I, being the modern housewife, have no choice but to please my husband.

So, to conclude, it all started with the pancakes.

And suddenly, it ended with them, too.

Lesson learned.

I will never ever attempt to make pancakes again.

* * *

**A/N: It was rather short, was it? But it's been in my computer for ages now and I was procrastinating editing it. So here it is. Enjoy! And please review/ look for typos!**


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